by Stan Mason
‘What if we don’t sell all the tickets?’ asked Aaron Woods with a frown on his face.
‘Why shouldn’t we?’ challenged Turner adamantly. ‘The celebrities should do the trick... the charity’s a bonus... and at forty pounds a ticket the audience will be privileged to see such a magnificent show.’
‘Who’s doing what on the committee?’ asked Meadows pressing to learn more. ‘Well,’ continued the musician, ‘I thought that Christopher and Rianna could contact the celebrity singers, the television authorities, and undertake the marketing and advertising. You, Mark, are the accountant. You can handle the finances and the ticket sales as well as finding investors and sponsors, although I have a few names on a list myself. Aaron and Clarissa can arrange for the hire of the tent, the performance licences, the police, the banners, the programmes, etcetera. I’ll handle the music, the rehearsals and the orchestra. I don’t have to tell you we need to act solidly as a team.’
‘Sounds reasonable to me,’ cut in Meadows, ‘although if anyone else can find some investors or sponsors it’ll be greatly appreciated.’
I stared at the group very hard, sizing up each one of them to the best of my ability. Turner seemed honest enough albeit he was extremely ambitious and rather naive to undertake such an enormous project without undertaking some kind of research on ticket sales. In my opinion, he was an excellent pianist who ought to be playing with the Philharmonic Orchestra, not having to allow his great ideas to rule him. This project was clearly way beyond his capability even though he sounded extremely confident. Sir Christopher and Rianna were fairly high-class people with whom I would place my trust if, indeed, I had to. He was a knight of the realm but his demeanour indicated that he was a very pleasant person who was keen to see some profit go to charity. His loving wife was a member of the committee for the same reason. Aaron and Clarissa Woods were a young married couple interested only in the project for some funds to be donated to a children’s charity. However, as I stared at Mark Meadows I immediately recognised that he was another kettle of fish. His eyes were close together... a feature I always felt indicated an element of dishonesty... and his body language appeared to me to be most strange. I had the notion that he was involved in the project solely for the money he would earn as the Budget Controller and Auditor without a care whether the project succeeded or not. My instinctive feeling was to mistrust him.
So there they were! The committee of Showtime Extravaganza and their outline plan for the project with allocated tasks. How could it go wrong? A budget of a million pounds... an income of almost two million. One hundred thousand to be directed to the children’s charity while investors would no doubt be rewarded financially for their involvement. Everyone would be happy and more wealthy. It seemed that my presence would hardly be required at any level.
The members of the committee hob-nobbed for a while, drinking a few more sherries before they left. Turner returned to the grand piano and started playing again while I decided whether or not to become visible. I thought hard for a moment and found that my body was still in spirit form except that I knew that the musician would be able to see me if I decided to change into visibility. However now was not the time and I desisted the opportunity to come face to face with the man to whom I had been allocated.
I decided to go to the homes of each of the committee members to help me fined some clues in my quest. The first house was that of Sir Christopher Morgan and his wife, Rianna. They owned a stately mansion in Buckinghamshire and were clearly quite wealthy which concerned me as to the reason why they weren’t first in the queue to invest in the project. On reflection, they could easily afford to advance fifty thousand pounds. I searched through the wall safe, as my ghostly hands could penetrate anything material, to discover that they had no mortgage on the property, possessed a hundred thousand bearer bonds and had a substantial amount of money stacked there. The furniture was very expensive and there were a number of oil paintings on the walls indicating that they were indeed quite affluent. It caused me to wonder why they had decided to become involved with the Showtime Extravaganza. Although I could see from the DVDs that they loved classical music, it seemed to be folly for them to become involved with such an enormous project. It left me feeling that my initial observations of the couple may have been misguided. Why were they really on the committee?
I went on to the house where Aaron and Clarissa Woods lived. They were a young married couple and, from the documents in their drawers, I could see that they had a reasonable mortgage on their property. The furniture was cheap and sparse and they were clearly in a start-up position just like any other married couple. Their involvement dwelt entirely on the charity side of the operation... nothing more. They were simply willing to help a children’s charity gain some much-needed money. Their assistance to the project was entirely voluntary and they had nothing to gain financially.
Mark Meadows rented an apartment in the centre of the town. Why did a financial expert only rent a place when it was clearly more profitable to own a house? There had to be a reason for him to do so and it came to me when I visited his office. He was employed by a partnership in the city and I stood behind him staring into the display on his lap-top computer. Although I failed to understand the significance of the figures in front of me, I instinctively knew that he was up to no good. I found that I could enter his mind at will and demanded to know what he had been doing that was wrong. The thought returned that he was sifting off some of the accounts of clients that had remained dormant for a while. His intention was to disappear with those funds in the near future. However, I then realised the significance of the full picture. He was going to couple the clients’ funds with the ticket receipts of the Showtime Extravaganza and disappear into the woodwork without a trace. That was the reason he was only renting his apartment. There were no strings attached... nothing of value would be left behind. The investors in the showbiz project would lose their money, the ticket holders would not be able to obtain a refund, and Mark Meadows could live for the rest of his life on some shore in complete comfort. As far as he was concerned, the only problem was the timing of his disappearance. It was imperative for him to have to wait for most of the ticket monies from the Showtime Extravaganza to be paid into the account.
The memory of nostalgia crossed my mind which surprised me because until now there had been no feeling in my spirit. I allowed my thoughts to wander to the house in which I had once lived and I was tempted to go there, retracing temporarily my past years on Earth. I wasn’t certain whether I would be allowed to do so but, after a brief hesitation, I made my way to the place without difficulty, entering directly through the front door in spirit form before walking into the lounge. I had expected to see everything exactly as I had left it when I had lived there which was totally nonsensical after the passing of so many years. I found it extremely strange to observe the scene confronting me because nothing was the same. The lay-out was totally different to that which I had known. People were living there whom I had never seen before. They were complete strangers. The furniture was exceptionally new. It had been positioned in entirely different places, while my favourite armchair which had always seemed perfectly placed in one corner of the room had been replaced by some electronic equipment and a home entertainment system. My initial reaction was one of shock as the walls in the lounge had been stripped of wallpaper and painted with strong pastel colours in red and yellow and there were large chandeliers shedding bright light on everything in the room. A thick bright red carpet, with diagonal designs, stretched from wall-to-wall, while a relatively worn wicker three piece suite filled the rest of the space. It had changed so much that there was no longer an element of nostalgia for me in the house any more.
I went into the kitchen to come face-to face with a calendar hanging on the wall and stared at it bleakly. Over thirty-five years had gone by since I had passed away. It was astonishing to realise how quickly it had vanished. The kitche
n had been refitted with a number of white appliances such as the cooker, the washing-machine, a dish-washer and a tumble-dryer. I could never recognise the use of a dishwasher but there were no less than six people now living in the house... two adults and four children. Everything had changed. It was as though I had entered the house of a complete stranger.
The master bedroom upstairs sported a four-poster bed with a thick grey carpet spreading flatly across the floor. It all looked so very different coupled with a freshness which had never filled the house in the past. I was extremely disappointed not to find anything connecting me with those features that I remembered from the past although I readily understood why it should be that way. A generation had passed by... change was inevitable.
After leaving the house with a strong feeling of disappointment, I decided to visit Jethro Huntley. He lived in a typical small semi-detached property at the edge of the town which required some additional work on the outside especially to the wooden window frames which had begun to rot. Huntley was a very mild-mannered man who worked as a control clerk for a motor car parts supplier ensuring that all the items required by the customers were in stock. He was such a weak-looking character that it seemed he would turn and run away in fear if someone shouted ‘boo!’ at him. Not surprisingly, due to his consistent humble demeanour, he was pretty much hen-pecked by his wife as well. Having no friends in particular, he was a pitiful person scared of his own shadow moving through life as though floating on a raft in the sea at the mercy of the current and the tide. As soon as I saw him, I reflected with chagrin that this was the man whose life I had to save in order that he could sire a son who would create a new religion and save the world. It was no wonder that he wasn’t the person to whom I had been directly allocated.
As he sat down to dinner that evening, his wife placed a plate of food before him.
‘Now eat nicely,’ she requested in an easy tone. ‘It’s your favourite dinner tonight. Steak and kidney pie.’
He smiled meekly at her before digging his fork into the food. He would have loved to have been a hero... a Casanova ... a man to admire and respect. However, nature had refused to endow him with those features and he realised miserably that he was a weak and feeble coward. His main problem was that he was always unable to think of anything to say to his wife or indeed to anyone else. They all seemed to have said exactly what he wanted to say in advance. He loved his wife dearly but words never seemed to form properly in his mind and, even when they did, he became tongue-tied. However, she was quite used to him by now and accepted her lot in life. After all they had been married for four years so there was nothing that she didn’t know about him. He was a hard-working mild-mannered man, filled with respect for others... a person who was definitely the weak and silent type. It suited her well in a way because it meant that she was forced to take the reins on practically everything they did... the shopping, their entertainment, the repairs to the house, their holidays, the purchase of household equipment, buying their clothing, the repayments on the mortgage. Huntley was so negative in his attitude that it all fell on her shoulders. In time, she started to become a control freak but she grew used to it and, in fact, it tended to delight her to be so.
After dinner, the telephone rang and Anna Huntley passed the instrument to her husband.
‘It’s Alan Turner,’ she told him. ‘He’d like a word with you. Don’t be too long because I’m making you a cup of tea.’
‘Yes, Alan,’ said Huntley, taking the receiver. ‘What can I do for you?’
‘We’re putting on a spectacular,’ related Turner sharply. ‘It’s called Showtime Extravaganza and it’s going to be the most fantastic show you’ll ever see or hear about in your life. Can I discuss it with you? I’ll be frank with you. We’re looking for investors and I’m offering you the chance to get into something that will bring you a fortune in the next few months. You’d be in at ground-floor level.’
‘A fortune,’ echoed Huntley. ‘It sounds too good to be true. Tell me more.’
‘It is too good to be true,’ rattled the musician eagerly. ‘If I were you, I’d earmark fifty thousand to get back a hundred thousand in six months’ time. You know me. I wouldn’t put you wrong.’
Huntley shrugged his shoulders aimlessly. The offer sounded good but he knew too little about it to make a decision. In any case, he would have to discuss the matter with his wife. They had three thousand pounds in the bank. Fifty thousand was a far cry as far as he was concerned.
After the call had ended, he went into the kitchen where Anne was washing the dishes.
‘That was Alan Turner asking us to make an investment of fifty thousand pounds in a new show... an extravaganza... that he’s putting on,’ he related.
She smiled and he knew exactly what she was about to say. ‘If only we had that sort of money,’ she responded. ‘Not that I’d ever want to invest it with Mr. Turner in some musical show. We’re not theatre angels able to put our hard-earned money into such things.’
‘He says we can double the investment in less than six months,’ continued Huntley fervently.
‘He can say what he likes,’ spat his wife. ‘That doesn’t mean it’s true. Anyway, where would we get fifty thousand pounds?’
‘If the investment’s a good one, we could re-mortgage the house,’ came the solution.
‘In a pig’s ear!’ she snapped. ‘I hope you’re not thinking of re-mortgaging the house for such an investment. Remember the old adage... a fool and his money are soon parted.’
He nodded. ‘Yes, you’re right. I don’t know why I even gave it a second thought.’
It was one week later when Alan Turner met Jethro Huntley in the local inn and they sat together at the bar.
‘What’s happened to your investment?’ asked the musician. ‘We’ve already started selling tickets and the prospects are very bright. You can double your money over the next six months. What are you waiting for?’
‘Anna doesn’t agree with it,’ he said sadly. ‘She’s suspicious of investments in shows. People have lost a lot of money doing it.’
‘Come on, man!’ exclaimed Turner curtly. ‘Surely you can make up you own mind. I’ll be quite frank. I won’t ask you again. We’ve already accepted eight investments of fifty thousand. In fact, people are beginning to line up now to put money into the show and, as I said, tickets are going well even at this early stage. It’s going to be one of the greatest extravaganzas in Britain in a generation. You can’t help but make money out of it and others are jumping on to the bandwagon. Join them. In six months time you’ll double your money. Look, it’s entirely up to you what you do but, of one thing you can be sure, it’s the last time I’ll ever mention it to you. If you want to be involved, give me a ring.’
‘Okay,’ returned Huntley weakly, completely influenced by the words of the musician. ‘I’ll contact the bank tomorrow to re-mortgage my property but, for Heaven’s sake, don’t say anything to Anna. She’d have my guts for garters if she ever found out.’
Hence the die was cast. The following day, Huntley went to see his bank manager and, after a great deal of discussion, he obtained a loan against the security of his house for fifty thousand pounds. When he received a cheque for that amount later in the week, he handed it directly to Alan Turner and the deed was done. However, as luck would have it, destiny had its own plans to create havoc in his life. It was most unfortunate that the company in which Huntley was employed appointed a new Managing Director the following week whose first act was to restructure its entire operations, initially saving costs by cutting back on staff. Subsequently, Huntley was the first man in the company to be made redundant. As he sat miserably in his lounge watching a programme on television, it didn’t take him long to realise the folly of his actions, having just taken out a substantial new loan. Without an appropriate salary coming in each month, he was left high and dry as it would b
e impossible to pay the additional sum required. As he had made all the arrangements with the bank without his wife’s knowledge, he felt unable to tell her about his indiscretion and she took his despair to emanate solely from the fact that he had been made redundant.
After three months had passed without making any payment on the loan, he went to see the bank manager to explain what had happened. He told him that he was certain to receive a hundred thousand pounds after the show was performed and for that reason an agreement was made to defer the loan for a further period of time. Huntley kept closely in touch with Alan Turner who was surprised at the influx of money coming from the tickets which were being sold at a rate of knots over the internet and at a local theatre. However, according to Murphy’s Law, if something is going to go wrong it will go wrong. It occurred by virtue of the greed of Mike Meadows who was beginning to plan his fraud as well as outlining the date of his departure. He had siphoned off a great deal of money from his employer’s client accounts and now waited for further tickets to be sold for the Showtime Extravaganza as the time drew nearer to the performance. It meant that I had one card up my sleeve in my favour. Meadows was an extremely greedy man and he would delay his departure until the last possible minute to steal as much money as he could from the musical event. I had already read his diary to learn that he intended to travel to the Canary Islands with his new-found wealth. It was my quest to prevent him from doing so. He had drawn a cheque on the committee’s accounts for seven hundred thousand pounds, having to await a further day for that sum to appear on the account, and he had purchased his airline ticket in advance. I realised that now was time for me act and I decided to appear directly in human form to Alan Turner.
